His Kingdom for a Horse
by Lokis-Army-1st-Lieutenant
Summary: (Sequel to Angel of Music) Vyperia Sallerius has been rendered mortal and is S.H.I.E.L.D's only desperate key to understanding Loki Laufeyson. However, Vyperia's compassion for the humans has been replaced with narcissistic and cynical tendencies, intending to do what is necessary to win she and Loki the thrones that they both rightfully deserve. Rated M for explicit material.
1. Our Story Lives On

His Kingdom for a Horse

Chapter One: Our Story Lives On

My name is Vyperia Sallerius.

I used to be something great, something beautiful, something worthy. However, my entire world was taken from me when I saw that my beloved had fallen into an abyss; and I, realizing that my love had become forlorn, attempted to break free from my life and fall after him into which, I believed, was my undoing.

On Asgard, I was a goddess—the Goddess of Guardianship. For a soft week, I was a Queen. Then my life took a turn for the worst when Thor Odinson, God of Thunder, gained compassion and understanding from a mortal named Jane Foster; after he proved worthy of his title, Thor returned to his beautiful land—my beautiful home—and he plundered my husband and me from the throne that was long deserved.

While Loki Laufeyson was amiss in a world that I could never understand, Odin All-Father banished me from my home. In cruelty and spite, Odin at first punished me for breaking the oath that I took as a Goddess. Then he punished me for usurping the throne at Loki's side. As recompense for my allowance of the destruction of Jotunheim and a further goal to keep Loki and I separated, I was forcibly reincarnated into the mind of a mortal woman.

For twenty-two years, I was trapped in the subconscious of a woman who knew nothing of my Realm; and I suffered day in and day out as I believed that my Loki had died. However, fate brought Loki and me together when he appealed to the mortal's mind in a dark bedroom one quiet night. Lo! After two weeks, Loki solved Odin's puzzle and understood that it was me that was the reason why the mortal haunted his mind whenever she opened her mouth to sing. His realization of the mortal Harper Solstrom's truth broke Odin's bargain; and the mortal's body shed forth Vyperia Sallerius.

However, the bargain was a distrusting exchange.

Oh, we were together as we had always desired. Loki and I were meant to find each other. Yet, in Odin's parting, it was never suggested that my powers would be forever sequestered.

Once a powerful goddess—blessed with the powers of a Snake—I was foraged with the life of a human being. I was not as strong as I had been before on Asgard. I was weak. What brutal escapades that Loki and I experienced in intimate, sexual congress took a harder toll on my body than I had ever had—his initial roughness made me ache and cry, and it was discomfiting to our usual togetherness.

I bled like a mortal. This, the cycle of a twenty-year-old woman, was by far the worst of things yet to come. Women upon Asgard had no such monthly bleedings; and each month, I dreaded the untimely aches and usual discomfort that followed.

My body did not hurt as much as my pride. To me, I had savagely understood that the only race to actively kill one another without purpose is the Midgardian race. They kill each other. They slaughter one another like inferior beasts like the sows and cattle. They hurt one another for pretentious reasons or for no reason at all. Midgardians were inferior to the Asgardians, and such creatures were lost. The humans would band together and kill each other for forbidden truth or uncertainties, like religion or to prove their mettle. I once felt immense compassion for them all, and I used to believe that they were more evolved than what they were—better and perhaps smarter than the meager Trolls or insolent, greedy Dwarves.

They were disgraceful; and I was one of them.

My pride suffered when I realized that I was the creature that was lost; and my dear husband could possibly _never_ look at me as he had looked at me when I was a goddess. Although he had promised that he would unconditionally love me even if I was a human, I wondered if he could still want me by his side on the throne when he was near immortal and I was mortal-kind.

In longing and despair, I prayed to any deity to give me back what Odin had taken from me: my powers, my throne, my life, and my world on Asgard. Although my life there would be in tatters, I would at least be something more than just a two-legged beast with the mind of a bird.

Then I learned that my King had made a deal with the Other, the servant of Thanos; and I was saddened to learn the nature of the deal.

I had watched my dear love disappear from me as quickly as I had revealed my true nature. To what I could understand, it was Loki's deal with Thanos that he should be granted a stipend on Earth to find me. Once Loki discovered me, it was binding for him to return to the unknown Realm. It was likely that Thanos had granted him this small measure in order to secure a bigger part of his master plan; and I assumed that it was prominent to obtaining the Ancient Casket of Winters, the Tesseract, which had belonged to Jotunheim before Odin tore through the Jotun ranks and withdrew them their power. So when Loki finally found me, when he had come to Earth the first time in order to find his Queen, Loki's deal finalized and he was pulled from my bed.

Loki's deal pulled him from my arms.

Sadly, heart-broken, I once again watched my great love depart from me.

Later, a horde of policemen and investigators appeared at my door of my Midgardian home. I believed that my life could be no worse until the police officers discovered the body of the mortal named Joseph Monarch. The evidence unnamed displayed that it was me who had cut up the mortal's body and tossed him into a garbage bag in a dumpster. Further accusation brought the policemen to believe that I was also responsible for a prima donna's lost vocal chords, a woman named Belinda. They believed, too, that I had murdered Harper Solstrom; and her death—my former imprisonment—was placed on my burdened shoulders.

I denied it all, and made a desperate cry for innocence. To plea with the humans was humiliating as I had never beseeched the mercy of any Man in my life. I was powerless. So I attempted to elaborate the honest truth with the authorities.

Loki's name passed my lips; and I had convinced them, unwittingly, that my efforts were performed on the will to do it for a deity that "may or may not exist". With their only explanation being insanity, I was brought to a Bedford Asylum where I was questioned heavily by men in white coats. Unable to convince them that Loki was real, that I was his Queen, that I had only performed such grotesque feats in order to return to my Realm, and that I was the goddess Vyperia Sallerius banished to Midgard as punishment for breaking a long-standing oath—I was brought to S.H.I.E.L.D where I was heavily supervised.

According to the men in armor, I was a liability to the world. Apparently, absolutely _no one_ was to know about Asgard or the Tesseract. My "spilling the truth about the Cube and Asgard" was going to send Midgard into mass hysteria. The entire explanation was given to me by a dark-skinned commander with an eye patch over one of his dark eyes. His name was Director Fury.

To make certain that I could not be seen by other unimportant mortals, I was locked away _with_ the Tesseract. To my surprise, it had found its way to Midgard where—to my understanding—the Midgardians were trying to use it as a defense play for war.

And here is where our story begins…


	2. Locked Away

His Kingdom for a Horse

Chapter Two: Locked Away

The feeling of emptiness while being fed plate after plate of tasteful morsels is only explained by those who have learned the truth of loneliness. You could be surrounded by many people, lost in the enthusiastic cloud of the rampant strangers in a festive gathering; but they aren't your companions nor do you wish much more time in their company. You are not alone. You're lonely. You long for companionship, although you desire not to seek it out for yourself; you know the company that you wish to keep is apart from you. This is the feeling of helplessness—self-induced and inflicted. You do not long to befriend those who try to understand your being; nor do you wish for them to seek understanding, for you believe that they are beneath you as you are above them. What creatures could comfort you in the midst of rancorous beasts? Would you stick out your arm to pet a dog who would either decide to nuzzle your fingers or to bite off your hand?

This emptiness, helplessness, loneliness, and distrust burdens the shoulders of all Mankind around me.

I was never a stranger to misunderstanding; the very definition of it had surrounded all persons and aspects of my entire life whilst I lived on Asgard. I was not like all the other Asgardian women—I was not empathetically beautiful, nor did I retain a high-quality brutality that would best the strength of Lady Sif; nor did I parade myself in front of the handsome Odinson, Thor; nor did I succumb to the whimsy of hand-to-hand combat.

I was a Goddess, but many feared me for my powers that I had once possessed.

Snakes were my epitome of cleverness, defense, offense, and cunning. Truly misunderstood creatures, why would anyone take time to forgive the venomous bite of a cobra whose mere attack was performed when it believed that it was provoked, threatened, or assaulted? At birth, I was given reptilian powers uncommon by the gift-given Asgardians. I was perceived as a lethal weapon when Asgard learned that I could shape shift into a snake hybrid, which perched fear into those who once knew me as "friend". The only person who truly admired my gifts and sought them as blessings was the one man whom I could understand without even trying: my dear Loki—my husband, my lover, my friend, My King.

It had been a year since I had last laid eyes on My King. The days passed. The nights lived on; the moon wax and waned. The stars faded and shined in the darkness. Yet as the weather drew colder then warmer again; as the snow melted and then the grass was reborn in the sunny morning; as days turned into weeks, and those weeks turned into months; I slowly began to feel like I would never see my beloved prince again. I once doubted during the twenty-two years in Harper's body that Loki would not be able to find me, but he had proven me wrong. So, once more, I bested my new captors that Loki would once more rescue me from my plight—yet as the days went on, I wondered if My Love had forgotten our time together.

I was cynical about my situation, and perhaps I had a right to be. Oh, yes, I was _very_ cynical about my dilemma. The world went on without my intervention; once a goddess, I could decide the fates of all the peasants that surrounded me today—yet that was taken from me. By my _birthright,_ I was a goddess. Odin managed to destroy that part of me that was ever worthy of remembrance.

I wouldn't come back for me either.

I thought of that simple sentence when I looked around my empty, bubble-shield cell and realized the sole emptiness of my room. I thought of just how _weak _that I truly was. Before my banishment, I would have easily broken through the Midgardian protective glass. Instead, bereft of all my powers, I was like a guinea pig secured behind a simple cage. If I could do nothing little such as breaking free from a whimsical prison, _why _would Loki ever want me by his side?

If I knew that I could never return to Asgard a proper Goddess…

I absolutely _despised_ the mortal frame, the mortal body, the mortal mind. So weak, decrepit, deprived, and the easy vulnerability of being unmade—how _easy_ it would be for a simpleton to torture me into submission! It disgusted me. Oh, the being that I had been degraded to was scum beneath Loki's boot. Why would he ever turn to me with those affectionate eyes and bear me that warm gaze that he gave me when we were intimately close? Odin had said that it took him several decades to realize that I, an Asgardian as well, was a match to Loki's cleverness and ambition. What if Odin was right? What if Loki fell out of love with me?

My desperation to understand Loki's absence did not make me any more empathetic with my surroundings. I didn't take interest in my interrogators when they asked me about the Destroyer that leveled a small town last year. Director Fury and his team of assassins threatened my life when I refused to elaborate about the makings of Mjolnir. Even when Dr. Selvig beseeched my own story, I refused to say anything. The Midgardian S.H.I.E.L.D agents were a persistent bunch; but I knew that the reasons why they wanted to know about the other six Realms were not for research purposes. I knew that these Midgardian assassins were attempting to prepare themselves for a higher form of war. If they wielded the power of the Tesseract—the Casket of Ancient Winters that the Jotuns had used in order to make Midgard become another Ice Age—it could be a new defense (or offense) mechanism for nuclear war. Midgard certainly had evolved in scientific fields and resources; but the blood lust, hatred, racism, and discrimination all were ever present in the minds and bodies of the day's Mankind.

I once believed that all nine Realms could co-exist in freedom and liberty. I was wrong. Especially after my dear Loki was taken from me, I realized that world peace was an ignorant idea, and only a fool would believe in it. I was a fool, and I regretted ever trying to stop Loki from destroying Jotunheim. Each Race was in a war for itself—there was no pleasing anybody. Greed and self-preservation masked every good intention in the Tree of Yggdrasil: there was _no_ fixing a world long destroyed.

In S.H.I.E.L.D, my prison was located in a desert beside Headquarters. Cacti and needle bushes, rocks, and barbed wire surrounded me. My whole world was barred by heavily plated glass and gleaming buttons and shiny baubles; around me, several indicating cameras turned and zoomed in as I paced aimlessly in my bubble.

I was blocked off from all humanity. I was shielded from any human contact.

My only company was a man of very little words, though his eyes beamed with questions and amiable conversation. I had to take note of this man, for it seemed that he was one of the quiet few on S.H.I.E.L.D's base. He wasn't loud or reckless, boisterous and self-absorbed—or even headstrong and self-reserved like the highest ranks in S.H.I.E.L.D. He listened, watched—_observed._ I couldn't remember his first name; and perhaps he hadn't one, but Director Fury called him Agent Barton. Yes, Agent Barton. The agent in question was a well-built archer with a hawk-like stare. He said very little to me when he stood outside my bubble, on guard. He would glance over his shoulder to observe, but then he would resume his unmoving perch in front of me.

Director Fury once had placed a man of very little brain before me. I couldn't remember his name; and probably, I couldn't remember because he was unimportant. I only said a few words to him. The next thing that I knew, Director Fury had the poor lad transferred to a psychic ward. Suicidal, I overheard the guards claim. After that, Fury had placed Barton in charge of baby-sitting me. He was a good-looking pet for what he was; a Midgardian snack for any woman who would have him over her knee. If I were not so lucky, I would have intrigued the darkest kinks of my being with Agent Barton; yet I highly doubted that he would ever come close to wanting me in such an intimate fashion.

He intrigued me, merely for the same reason why I was intrigued by Director Fury.

In my youth and graduating age as a goddess, I was talented in the art of seduction. It was a trade, a tango, a beautiful dance. Taken literally, it was a rumple under heavily girdled sheets and sweaty bodies tangled in a hot, sweaty mess—but that was the final step. Seduction, my dear ladies, _is_ an art; and it's both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. It is a breath of fresh air; and you don't have to mean _anything_ that you say, as long as you say it with intentional tones.

Men are not complicated. Rather, you just have to know the _fastest_ way to get to their hearts. A simple look, a lingering smile, a gentle prick of a hand, a light rub against the back, or a swift kiss on the cheek can light a fire under a man's boots. It's a trick, a trade, and a highly anticipating act.

What stumped me with Barton was that he could _refuse_.

Sexual attraction exists when the pupils dilate. Barton's did, but he never _acted_ on them. He retained full control. Admirable precision, determined restraint, and muted declination made up Barton's method of how he resisted.

This was why he intrigued me so.

In my cage, I was given clothes that mocked my very situation. They were dark blue shirt and pants—nothing like the regal matriarch robes that I had adorn as queen. Wearing tattered cotton upon pale flesh, I believed that I was dog wearing a knit sweater. I felt no confidence in my wear; yet Barton never mocked my clothes nor did he condescend to me. Whenever he did open his mouth, it was a swift "Yes" or "No" to me; or he spoke more than two words to someone who was passing by.

I continued pacing.

I looked up habitually to see the Blue Cube propped into a tightly secured pedestal, protected by a transparent glacial shield. The Tesseract was in my cage. Here with me, Fury believed that if ex-terrestrial beings returned to Earth for the cube, they would free me along with the Tesseract. Supposedly, I would fight the enemies in order to retain life on Midgard.

Honestly, I would _gladly_ hand over the Tesseract to any Realm if it meant that my life as a mortal would cease. I welcomed death. I did not fear it. A year had passed, and I grew weary of all things plain and human. The world went on with little interesting things happening. Death would be _relief._

My outlook on Earth was poor, cynical, sadistic, and absolutely grounded on hatred. What fools these mortals were to believe that they were the _only_ planet to hold such a powerful gem! The Tesseract was one of five. Humans wanted Asgard to believe that they had no qualms with the Realm of Kings, but I believed different.

I had said that the destruction of Jotunheim was wrong and immoral, for no race should be destroyed on one's own bias. I shamed myself in my cage.

Loki should have turned the Bifrost on Midgard.

I approached the Tesseract quietly and observed it with wide eyes.

So beautiful, it was. How fascinating it was for me to know that although strangely luminescent and small that something so beautiful could be so dangerous.

Sadly, again, I thought of Loki.

Where was he? Would he search the skies and the sea for me? Would he come back at all?

_I would find you again if I could,_ I thought.

I half-hoped that he could hear my thoughts. We shared a psychic link, and I wondered if Odin, too, had taken that from me as well.

_Joyous love,_ I thought softly as I gazed at the Tesseract, _Remember me. I still love you. Do not fall out of love with me. If you should not return, I truly understand. However, it will be forfeit to live much longer here if I know that you no longer want me._

_For what life on Earth is worthy and grand if she should no longer be wanted?_

Barton glanced over his shoulder to give me a look.

I gazed at the Tesseract.

The Cube began to light up in a special frenzy. Barton looked at it curiously, sincerely disturbed. Although it was a scientific phenomenon to the humans, I knew that the Tesseract had come alive. Bright, blue lightning strikes within the magnificent gem struck the corners of its mystical prison. It made loud, static-like noises. Barton reached into his pocket and withdrew a radio.

I glanced at the Tesseract hopefully.

_Oh, my little gem, will you—the Casket of Ancient Winters—be my Jotun King's way to me?_

After he alarmed his commanders that the Tesseract was misbehaving, Barton met my gaze.

"You know _exactly_ what is happening, don't you?" asked Barton quietly.

Then, for the first time in what seemed forever, I did what I thought that I could never do ever again.

I smiled.


	3. A Palace Horse

His Kingdom for a Horse

Chapter Three: A Palace Horse

The Tesseract's power was unmeasurable, unpredictable, and limitless; and it was one of the five gems that were craved by power-hungry tyrants and well-deserved kings and queens. The last time that I had witnessed its power was when it was cradled by Loki, who had discovered his true parentage when he had held it in his hands for the very first time; again, I saw only Loki use the Cosmic Cube in order freeze Heimdall, who had been adamant to stop Loki's schemes for Jotunheim. I had never truly seen the specific powers of the Tesseract; nor had I ever ventured into the Truth of what the Tesseract could unveil. It was said that the Cube beheld secrets and valuable knowledge for those who wished to seek it; and it could unveil hidden notes for those who were more ambitious. I did not the extension of what the Hypercube could do; and on some level, I was willing and unwilling to see the real power of the Tesseract.

To be clear, the Tesseract never belonged to the mortals; nor did it _truly_ belong to Odin All-Father. It had been the inherited jewel for the Jotuns of their icy tundra, Jotunheim. Its name is referred to as the Tesseract by Asgardians, and the mortals refer to it as the Cube—but the Jotuns called it the Ancient Casket of Winters. Given the nature of intentions, Jotunheim could send all of Yggdrasil into an Ice Age. They would have done it so easily if Odin had not sent his army into the Cold Highlands and slaughtered its people.

For the war that happened nearly 1048 years ago, it was a forged truce—not built on mutual agreement—that Odin would keep the Casket of Ancient Winters in order to prevent another higher form of war to happen between Realms. The Jotuns lost their precious jewel. The fort that the Frost Giants had been fighting alongside had been abandoned, and—as you must know by now—that was where Odin had found Loki.

Laufey and his foot soldiers went on with their lives, though they were understandably resentful of the King of Asgard. The Tesseract was kept in a heavily guarded vault, secured by Asgard's heavily-built and professionally crafted Destroyer for a thousand years. During Loki's temporary rule as Asgard's regent, he intended to make an exchange with Laufey—the Tesseract for Odin's death. Of course, he never _truly_ intended to keep his word. Laufey came to Asgard, and Loki double-crossed him and his minions. When Loki fell and became lost to Heimdall's Foresight, the Tesseract was lost as well; and no one, not even Heimdall, could locate the Cube.

The Tesseract fell to Midgard. During this time, I had served twenty-two years in the mind of Harper Solstrom—that is the time frame. The Tesseract was discovered by a scientist, philanthropist, and genius Howard Stark. Then his son, Tony Stark, discovered the cube once more when he had found it in the Atlantic Ocean. When the nature of the Cosmic Cube was so-forth "understood", a highly classified and dignified organization named S.H.I.E.L.D confiscated the Tesseract from the world and brought it to their headquarters in order to be further studied, quantified, theorized, and otherwise be pathologically dissected by the so-called smartest scientists in Midgard. In order to fully comprehend the abstract idea of a gem such as the Tesseract, the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D, Nick Fury, brought in Dr. Eric Selvig.

Selvig had previous knowledge of Asgard, due to his association with Thor whilst Thor had been banished. To my understanding, he and Thor had a close friendship; so, in accordance to Phil Coulson's evaluation and Fury's truth-telling gut, S.H.I.E.L.D called forth Dr. Selvig to evaluate the Tesseract's nature.

The Tesseract's power was unlimited, and it would be—by far—_the_ closest that anyone could ever be to have the upper hand on any mortal, Giant, Troll, Dwarf, sorcerer, or even the Asgardians. A paralleled degree of power higher and him or her who wielded the power of the Tesseract could be nearly invincible as the Olympians.

Director Fury, paranoid to have his race against another Destroyer as it had been in a small town, created an operation called Phase 2. This operation allows scientists and engineers to come together in order to manifest nuclear weapons from the Tesseract's energy. Phase 2, as I understood it at the time, was in progress; but it wasn't nearly ready to be put into motion. While Fury was very willing to create weapons of mass destruction for the good of his race, he wasn't about to unleash his army upon Asgard or Jotunheim—or any of the other six Realms out of paranoia. In his own right, he wanted to make it a possible defense so that if ever an other-worldly enemy sent a Destroyer—or any other catastrophic beast—to the mortal world, it would have a higher degree of protection other than simple patrol officers guarding its front.

The Tesseract was—and is—a gem of unlimited resources. It's not a mere stone. It lives. The Tesseract is a possible open portal between two worlds: its doors are open from which world wishes to enter the Realm on which the Tesseract resides.

For example, if enough Dark Energy was mustered, Jotunheim could enter Midgard with ease. If the Frost Giants were capable of such Energy, they would have entered Asgard while Odin had kept it locked tight and safe in the armory of treasured relics.

As Loki has told Heimdall as he had always told me: there are more ways than one to enter a Realm other than by the use of the Bifrost. On that note, to my knowledge, it was Loki's prevailed mastery in sorcery that he had been able to find me on Midgard at all while the Bifrost was destroyed.

The Tesseract usually remained dormant. Habitually a luminescent Infinity Stone, the Tesseract's glow never truly brightened as much as it had done whilst Agent Barton had been guarding it. The misbehavior of the Tesseract gave Barton a slight clue that there were others trying to get _into_ Midgard by way of aforementioned portal.

In the interest of safety measure, Barton and Dr. Selvig removed the Tesseract from my quarters and transported it about fifty feet below ground into a Discovery Unit to be surveyed further by scientists. No longer able to guard me at his highest vantage point, Barton pulled my quarters and transferred me, too, to the Discovery Unit where upon arriving; I was shackled to the wall like a torture victim.

Yes. _Shackled._

Barton's hands were dexterous and quick. He had my arms pinned tightly against the small of my back while he expertly tossed the manacles in his other hand in order to have them open simultaneously along both wrist cuffs. Dark eyes looked into mine in consideration.

"You _truly_ believe that I am the dangerous one in this room?" I asked quietly.

Barton's eyes shifted, glancing into each of mine as if he was searching for the answer that I could give him. His fingers around my wrists tightened. No, he didn't believe me.

"I follow orders, Vyperia," said Barton in a low mutter.

No one had to hear our conversation; but this wasn't an interesting communique. It wasn't anybody's business about what we had to say to each other; though I was uniquely surprised that he had _anything_ to say to me at all.

"Do you always do as you're told, Agent Barton?" I remarked.

Barton's neck tightened upon my statement.

"You're a war criminal, Ma'am," said Barton decisively. "I have no desire, whatsoever, in destroying my career for one night with you."

He reached around my waist to shackle my wrists. In our close vicinity, he looked at me as if in silent hesitation. I simply smiled.

"What makes you think," I asked softly, "that I would purge my body for you, mortal?"

"The thing about that, Vyperia," remarked Barton shamelessly, "is that _you're_ a mortal too."

His statement angered me, so I kicked him hard in the shin—Barton grunted in pain and he faltered for only a second. My assault had caused a little attention to come my way. Selvig and his other companions in white coats glanced in our direction, concerned.

"I'm handling it," Barton reassured them. "I've got her under control."

Barton reached behind me against to latch a chain between my shackles.

I was a dog on a leash, tied up to a wall.

I leaned forward.

Barton jumped slightly.

"You have _no_ idea of the danger that you put yourself and your friends in tonight, Barton," I breathed. Barton's eyes met mine with a swift look of puzzlement. "You do not know the power that the Tesseract could unleash, or _what_ it could unleash. You think that a few bullets and couple of machine tanks will save your race—your precious Earth—but you are _wrong."_

"What do you know about the other side?" asked Barton.

I kept silent.

Barton seized me by the collar of my shirt and pulled me toward him. The chain jingled unceremoniously when he yanked me as far as I could go.

"Tell me now, Vyperia."

His teeth clenched together.

"Why should I say anything?" I taunted quietly. I smiled. "What needs should you quench for me when I tell you the truth? You and your mortal friends are liars and deceivers. I know so because I used to believe that your race was more evolved and compassionate and kind."

Barton released me when I gave him no valuable information.

I shook off his assault.

"All of you are monsters, worse than story book villains," I muttered.

"You don't know _anything_," said Barton. "There are good people here.'

"People like you?" I remarked. "I _know_ what you do to people who do not cooperate. I know what you are. Assassin. You lie and kill. Your masters lie and kill. There _is_ no good in what you do."

"And you believe that you are above us when you have done the same things in the past?" asked Barton.

"We do not slaughter each other," I answered. "Asgardians are one; they fight and fall as one. You—_and your faithful friends—_protect self-interests. If you should desire for a person to no longer live, you simply walk up to them and stab them in the heart."

Barton looked at me intently. He didn't spout off; he hesitated to retaliate. I knew that the humans were no different than the animals that scavenge the meat off the dead warthog's bones. Humans were indifferent, selfish, cruel creatures who lacked discipline and self-respect. They were beneath Loki, and I suffered putrid anger and shame to be one that was beneath the God of Mischief. I might have had the same mortality—but I was _nothing_ like them.

Barton stood a foot in front of where he had dropped me. He gazed at me in consideration. The man was not a person who would attack first then ask questions later. He was pensive—a quiet man with many thoughts. Yet his thoughts seemed rampant and rapid, confused and puzzled, and possibly unhinged.

"You would have your entire world believe that everything will be all right," I said. "They will eventually learn about Fury's Phase 2. They will look upon it with disdain and _disgust."_

"You cannot possibly know the good that will come out of Phase 2, Vyperia," said Barton calmly. "You have as much foresight as I do. You can't know. You don't know. You're playing games with me."

"This is not a game." I said. "Other forces will locate the Tesseract. It can't be unmade."

"We're not trying to destroy it." Barton argued. "We're weaponizing it."

"It is forbidden," I breathed.

"Forbidden by whom?"

"He who guards all Nine Realms." I answered. "Your mortals' meddling with the Tesseract will allow the other Realms to know that you are planning a higher form of war. The Tesseract does not belong on Midgard."

"And what will you have _us_ do, Vyperia?" remarked Barton. "As I recall, it was _your_ planet that sent a killer to level a small town in the first place."

"Not to destroy your world, no." I explained calmly.

"No, it wasn't you. I know the little story," said Barton. He folded his arms across his chest. "I know about you. I've read Fury's notes and Selvig's research slips. Vyperia Sallerius. Born to be a goddess."

I frowned.

"You screwed up," said Barton. "People make mistakes. You're not as perfect as you think that you are. I don't have to talk to you to know that you, too, are messed up in the head. You're no different than the mass murderers and serial killers and bombers that S.H.I.E.L.D terminates every day of the week."

"_You cannot talk to me this way!" _

I found my temper scaling, and my voice rose above his. I felt my cheeks burn with anger. I was not a common criminal. I was tricked into a deal that I didn't know would revive me as a common mortal. I was played.

"_You_ are just like the rest of us, and I don't think that you have a choice," said Barton in a low voice. "You breathe like we do. You bleed like we do. Do you think that you're any different because by the way you speak and enunciate?"

"_I was queen,"_ I breathed. "_Above_ all of you."

"Well, I guess it was right for Odin to take you down a few notches then," Barton remarked coolly. "Look, all you have to do is tell me _what_ waits on the other side of the Tesseract. What is there? What intends to harm us? Will it come after you?"

"My husband searches for me." I answered.

"Is it Loki?"

"I don't know."

Barton grabbed my neck and pushed me against the wall. The shackles around my wrists cut loosely into my flesh as he had me adjacent to my arms. It was extremely uncomfortable. He paid no attention to my level of discomfort. When he held my neck, he didn't tighten his grip. He merely aimed to intimidate me, not to harm me.

"_Vyperia, _whatever waits on the other side may kill you too."

"Then let them." I said with a disheveled shrug. "What have I to fear? You?"

A small laugh escaped me.

"If you kill me, you'd be no different than the monsters that you've murdered. You should want to keep me alive. I wouldn't want to be you whenever my husband comes to see that I was killed. What do you think that he'll do then, Barton? What do you think?"

Barton's hand left me.

"You're bluffing."

"I'm not," I remarked. "He found me once." I was panting. "He can find me again."

"What is his purpose with you if you're mortal and no longer a goddess?"

"We're equals."

"By what extension?"

"I'm his wife." I muttered.

"Would he sacrifice his kingdom for you, a mortal like us?"

I stared at him uncertainly.

Barton frowned.

"You're not sure now, are you?" Barton said quietly. He stepped back to walk away. I heard upon his voice say, "A horse, a horse; his kingdom for a horse."


	4. SHIELD's Lethal Weapon

A Kingdom for a Horse

Chapter Four: S.H.I.E.L.D's Lethal Weapon

In this chamber, this meager prison, I was on display for anyone to view me. I never liked to be stared at like a common animal; but in this small, weak, and frail form, I had no choice but to endure the constant glances in my direction by passing scientists and business associates of a higher governmental affair. Among the rabble, complex machines surrounded me; I knew that they were scientific evaluations on radars and simplistic tests on reading paper. The machinery around me was not foreign to me at all—merely, a downgrade from what was available on Asgard.

Asgardians were highly evolved, several years ahead of the municipal scientific discovery and engineering. While the humans used basic equivalencies and energy-based compounds, our logic and understanding was equalized by both science _and_ magic. Humans believed that magic was merely a ruse—parlor tricks like a hare being pulled out of a top hat. Mere parlor tricks that was, but Asgardians knew magic as a form of research and wisdom—not _just_ for mere amusement.

Humans were close-minded creatures. They could be frightened by new ideas or uncertainties. To believe that magic was _real_ was like a fantasy coming true. The myths that they believed to be mythological—such as Fenrir, Loki's eldest son—were not stories. They were legend because they were real. The beliefs of such creatures were lost upon Men who started to deny everything in spite of the reality—and denial eventually won over the human race. Mortals were blinded by the true nature of mystical, profound beings and objects, and concepts.

So, in truth, I had a _very_ hard time believing that Nick Fury would honestly believe that the Tesseract was more than just a mass of probability for nuclear war. It was not just a Cube capable of manufacturing a new class of weaponry—not like the old race of humans had performed when they had created HYDRA weapons in Germany. The humans had little appreciation for the Tesseract's true nature. It was more than a weapon. It was knowledge. It was truth. It was _far_ more remarkable than the basic animal instinct of Man.

I was chained to the wall like the common criminal that I was ashamed to have become, and Agent Barton passed me with a small look in his eyes. His dark, brown eyes were always so contemplative and full of certainty—there was confidence there that hardly ever died. Such confidence was required in order to perform the feats that he had to endure: S.H.I.E.L.D would accept nothing less.

Barton. Dear Agent Barton. He would give up his life for the next man. He was a very good man, of course, and I wouldn't deny it. Barton might have chained me to the wall. He might have guarded me in solitude for those several months that have passed. Frankly, he could probably despise me as much as I loathed my new prison. However, I had to give him if even the slightest bit of appreciation that he hardly ever spoke to me as if I was a common thief or a lone strider. There was some sort of respect that he gave me; and lastly, I silently thanked him for it.

"What becomes of my brother-in-law, hm?" I asked casually as Barton stepped two inches passed me.

Barton halted as I had spoken so easily of Loki's brother, Thor.

Thor was not a stranger to S.H.I.E.L.D. After assisting in defeating the Destroyer, Thor had become quickly associated with Phil Coulson and Agent Barton. I merely spoke to Barton out of a small need for conversation. I was growing detached of all things that made me at all bearable to exist, and I wanted some sort of attention. Anything.

"He doesn't work for us," returned Barton.

He answered me out of the necessity to grant me my small mercy. Only Barton seemed to understand the basic need of communication. Not everyone could live without having somebody to talk to; and while I might have resented it, he knew that I was beginning to deteriorate in my loneliness and abandonment.

"S.H.I.E.L.D keeps tabs on every threat in the world, does it not?" I asked in turn. My initial pleasure to speak to a human being was out of a desperate need for companionship; however, I wondered if the members of S.H.I.E.L.D knew just how _much_ information that I had acquired after being their captive for 12 months. I didn't have to so much as speak to any of them to listen and observe their conversations.

While I was incapacitated for my knowledge of the other Realms that co-existed with Earth, I was a silent and deadly weapon if the world suddenly became aware that the secret organization S.H.I.E.L.D was hiding more than just petty secrets about the Tesseract. So I tested Barton. Yes, he might have respected me; but I was impervious to compassion and understanding by Man. It was Man that had put me here in the first place—well, a woman. If Thor had never met the lovely Jane Foster, he would still have been ignorant in his ways, and would have lived his life in Midgard as a lost soul.

In essence, Loki would still be king; and I would not have become such a beast as a mortal-kind.

My little switch toward Barton didn't go amiss.

Barton's hand, which had been resting securely on a hand gun at his hip, fell from grace. He used his fingers to gently palm the side of his face. He braced himself for our discussion. Our previous conversation had scorned me. He called me a mere horse compared to a kingdom that Loki loved. Barton had crudely pointed out to me that perhaps Loki would never return for me since I was mortal.

I had my doubts, yet still I held a hope for my love that he would once more return to Midgard to rescue me. This damsel-in-distress situation that twice I had been put in made me feel helpless and pathetic; but the reality of it _was_ that I was helpless. While I was a valuable piece of archaeology, I was treated like a prisoner. S.H.I.E.L.D wouldn't kill me; but they wouldn't grant me my freedom.

They would take that away. Just that.

In spite of it, I almost wished for death.

Barton's hesitation to become sociable was understandable; however, I knew that my statement—as small as it was—pulled from a small duty to see if I was bluffing or if I was making conversation.

The built archer emitted a small sigh of patience. He turned to me in one fluid motion—at first his head and then his body. It was the gesture of one who was reluctant to engage, but dutifully carrying it out. It was admirable, but I silently belittled him for having to hear me out on my statement.

"They never truly allow their targets to vanish, do they, Agent Barton?" I said gently when Barton turned to face me. "S.H.I.E.L.D has its own methods of tracking their little treasures. Merely, they keep a safe distance in case something should arise…"

"Vyperia, _you're_ a target; and we keep a _very_ close eye on you," remarked Barton calmly.

I gestured with difficulty with my shackled hands behind my back, and smiled as I said with impeccable charm,

"Two eyes. They have you, hm? Their little pet…"

"I'm not a pet," said Barton patiently.

"Oh, of course you are," I said calmly.

He approached me, and I relished in the fact that I gained his attention.

Wherever he had been going, whatever his destination—he had been interrupted successfully by me, and I appreciated the fact that I still had enough charisma and persuasion to do just that.

So when he stepped forward, I smiled. Barton, however, did not. His dark eyes smoldered upon my soft rebuttal. He was a man of his own principles. He wouldn't hit me, merely for his own purpose that he had never laid a hand on me unless his orders required him to do so. Rather, he would intimidate me with the damage that he _could_ do.

His companion, Natalie Romanoff, was a _very_ different person.

When Barton stepped toward me, his words were soft; but there was no intimacy in his voice.

"Why," he said in a low voice, "would you call me S.H.I.E.L.D's pet?"

"Why would they have you watch over me?" I remarked calmly.

He was in close vicinity. I could smell his musk. Agent Barton never seemed to be hot under the collar. He always held his own temper. Barton was not quick to react. In some way, he reminded me of Loki. Barton's dark eyes searched mine for a quick minute. Then he stepped back decisively.

"I'm not S.H.I.E.L.D's pet. You're trying to rattle my cage," remarked Barton.

He saw through my ruse to get a rise out of him.

"Sorry," I said shamelessly.

"No, you're not." Barton said.

"You're right. I'm not." I muttered.

"Vyperia."

Barton said my name softly. I looked at him, disgruntled.

"You have no friends here," said Barton flatly. "You are in _no_ position to disengage with _the_ only person who still treats you like a human being."

I found myself suddenly heated—a painful shiver ran up my spine and I cried out furiously—

"_I'm no such thing!"_

Barton didn't look phased by my outburst.

My chains against the wall rattled from the toss of my manacles. Barton didn't even flinch when I rounded on him. He stepped back with just enough space between us where my leash could have me step without being choked. Barton folded his hands behind his back and looked upon me with a gentle expression.

"_Don't you even look at me like that,"_ I breathed.

It was pity. I didn't want pity, especially from his kind.

"No, I am _not_ one of you. I'm not a human. I am an Asgardian. I am _nothing_ like you."

"You should be happy that I still treat you as well as I do with my companions," Barton remarked gently. "There is nothing wrong with being mortal. Why would you want to live a thousand years? What is there for life to offer you?"

"You wouldn't know, would you?" I remarked. "You wouldn't know."

"Vyperia…"

"_Don't_ empathize with _me,_" I snapped. "None of you…"

Barton looked upon me with a chagrin expression. His eyes were partial upon sorrow and annoyance. For a year, he had supervised me; and in my solitude, perhaps he had watched me slowly deteriorate. Humans had an array of emotions; some of them could bottle it, others could have them run wild. Barton's capacity for emotion was selective. He could erase happiness or sadness; he could fake affection or lust if the situation called for it. Accompanied by years of hard training and his no-doubt excellent marksmanship in archery, Agent Clint Barton was one of the highly valuable ranked officers in his field.

And was seemed so unreal was that he was mortal. He had no powers; and yet his friends and allies looked upon him as if he was something truly powerful. Barton was a deadly weapon in his own right.

Yet, as he may have been purely confident in his abilities; mine were forsaken when I had been banished. It was different to know that you would never be gifted and be confident in a mortal capacity than to learn that you once had such beautiful abilities and to learn that they were taken from you. The latter was me, and I knew that such reptilian gifts could never be mine to own again.

Unless, of course, the Tesseract was put in my grasp…

"Vyperia, what do you know about S.H.I.E.L.D's targets?" said Barton calmly.

"You will learn _nothing_." I said. "Agent Barton, your people will never know the truth that the Tesseract could unveil. You don't know how to use it. It's foreign to you. It's folly. The Tesseract is a portal, a door that connects to two ends."

Barton gazed at me patiently.

"So you really _do_ think that someone or something is trying to make its way to Earth."

He didn't ask me anything. He confirmed my first truth that I had stated yesterday.

"You would be wise to take my word on that," I muttered.

"I can't release you," said Barton.

"Why would you?"

"You might have risked your chances of being set free, Vyperia." Barton said. "If the Cube allows its intruders into Earth, wouldn't the newcomers release you? Is that a plan? If we stop it, you can never be free."

I was unable to suppress a large smile to cross my face.

Then I heard a soft voice in my head, a male's low baritone that intruded upon my thoughts. My stomach leaped at the familiar tone and accent; my heart skipped a beat. Loki's voice pushed through my mind, and I spoke his sentence on my tongue,

"_What makes you think that you can stop this?"_

Barton stared at me.

I was beaming.

Loki was alive.

And he was _very_ close.


End file.
